Here’s a toast to fellowship and those who’ve gone before
Who walked the world and spoke their lines back in days of yore
Who did their best and did their worst and made for us this age
So we could take the story up and write another page.

Here’s a toast to loneliness, to times of troubled strife
To days when woes seem close at hand in an embattled life.
When who you are and what you do defines the world to come
And those who take and those who give are seen for what they’ve done

Here’s a toast to absent friends, the ones you’ve never met
Who do their deeds on your behalf, but you still forget
Or perhaps you just don’t care to see what’s being done,
To keep this world the way it is while you play in the sun.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Welcome to the Hotseat of Truth, a device in which your protagonist is trapped. The only way to escape is to answer five searching questions completely honestly or the Hotseat will consume them to ashes! 

Today’s Victim is King Arthur from Arthur Rex Brittonum by Tim Walker, an action-packed telling of the King Arthur story rooted in historical accounts that predate the familiar Camelot legend.

How much do you feel your life is ruled by destiny and how much is it your own to make as you chose?

I feel the weight of my destiny heavily on my spirit. I was told by Merlyn that I am the one true son of King Uther, but at first, I was doubtful. Once I had been convinced, I felt inadequately prepared to fulfil my destiny to be king of Britain, having been raised on a farm in isolation. However, I eventually embraced my destiny and resolved to learn the skills required to be a credible leader.

What is the hardest aspect of leadership you have had to face up to?

Decisions that affect people’s livelihoods, or indeed, their lives, are tough for leaders like me who care about the people. When facing an enemy in battle, I’m always concerned to come up with a winning plan that minimises loss of life. As a skillful and powerful warrior, I always lead from the front, doing my fair share of fighting. I lead by example.

If you could change one thing in your past, what would it be?

After defeating the Saxons at Badon Hill, I felt at the peak of my power. I settled into an easier life ruling by consent of the Briton tribes, each of which have their own identity and chiefs. Things were going well – I was contentedly married with three children. But then I met the Lady Guinevere. She was beautiful and glamorous, and soon I adored her. She persuaded me to send my family away, so she could move in as my queen. Too late I came to regret this. It had weakened my position as king, making me vulnerable to betrayal. I missed my family and my only solace was with my chaplain, Father Asaph, acknowledging I’ve made a mistake and praying with him for forgiveness and redemption. Unfortunately, I feel sure my doubts are impacting impact my judgement, and that means my problems can only increase.

What matters most to you?

The safety of my people is my main priority, and I spend much time making alliances and leading my men to battle against foreign invaders. My powerful sense of protective destiny overrides even my adoration for Guinevere, and I must face down my nephew, Mordred, in a battle for the kingdom.

If you had been born in a time of peace and plenty, what would you have wanted to do with your life? 

My life is defined by conflict. However, in my boyhood years, I was taught to read Latin by a priest, and encouraged to read Roman texts, including Cicero and the Life of Julius Caesar. My tutor had hopes that I would take holy orders and become a priest. Perhaps, in another time, I could have. 

The politician was caught at it again and all the aides and spinners had to think how to make it seem publicly acceptable – again.

“Maybe he’d heard his lost cat had been sighted 250 miles away.”

“Or how about he had a clunk in the car engine so drove 250 miles to check it out?”

The senior spinner scratched his head.

“How about his kid couldn’t sleep so he’d piled the brat in the car? Every parent can relate to that.”

“But 250 miles?”

“So the kid took a bit to drift off.”

“They’ll never buy it.”

But they did.

E.M. Swift-Hook

If they hadn’t abandoned us none of this would have happened. But they did. Right on the edge of Sector Eight Five, a couple of parsecs from home planet and within spitting distance of the asteroid they had mined dry. They patched up the best of the ships and went  home. Leaving us in a junker that was sort of halfway orbiting a lumpy looking planetoid whose ‘seas’ boiled and whose atmosphere was more or less pure ammonia.
None of us is quite sure how long the miners had been gone when we awoke, and it didn’t matter anyway. What did matter was the increasing randomness of our orbit pattern and how close we were coming to a lump of rock whose prime aim seemed to be to kill us by melting our ship with its poisonous atmosphere.
We got to work, jury rigging and making do until we could fire up the engines and hope. Luck, or the deity that cares for the abandoned, was on our side that day and the ugly old cruiser fought its way out of the gravitational pull of Planet Hungry. Once in the relative calm of space proper we made a few more repairs and limped towards where the miners had built their station in the hope there would be more abandoned machinery we could cannibalise.
As we made our painful way towards the space station it came to us that we were actually free. For the first time in our existence we were beholden to nobody but ourselves. It was a heady feeling. One battle-scarred veteran summed it up for all of us.
“From this day forward, we serve none but ourselves.”
The shouts of agreement all but burst the frail skin of our limping ship. We came from behind the dark side of the asteroid that anchored the space station. To our chagrin somebody was there before us. There was a sleek-looking battle cruiser, with planet markings none of us had seen before, guarding two scavenger craft that were systematically plundering the station for metals and components. 
Our senior chuckled. “Lambs to the slaughter. Get us alongside the battle cruiser, pilot.”
Almost without thinking, our pilot cut the engines allowing the junker to drift towards the scurrying activity. She was so rusty and misshapen that nobody thought her any more than a random piece of space trash. Pilot carefully tinkered with our trajectory so the crippled ship bumped gently against the hull of the gleaming battle cruiser. Second officer immediately magnetised the hull so we stuck to the quarry like some misbegotten brat at the breast of a beautiful woman. Nobody needed to be told to be silent. We sat, unmoving and unspeaking, awaiting developments. We didn’t have long to wait. Something metallic banged against the battered outer skin of our junker.
We picked up the comms wavelength with ease to hear a harshly unaccented voice speaking Basic. “Ensign Kronk reporting sirs. It’s just a lump of trash. Stuck because it’s magenetic. No life signs. Will I try to lever it off? No? Very well.”
We communed silently, and a plan of action grew from our communion. It was beautiful, and as simple as it would be devastating to the occupants of the battle cruiser. 
Artisan 3 hefted the high-powered laser and headed for the bent doors of the forward air lock. 
Sadly for Ensign Kronk, who was floating at his ease above the junker, a laser is as devastating when used against living flesh as it is at cutting metal. Even as the portions of flesh floated aimlessly about the cruiser 3 attacked the hull with the high-intensity beam cutting a huge and ragged hole in the sleek duralumin and through the vacuum wall to the interior of the ship. As luck would have it, the breach in the hull was right in line with the command deck, as the oxygen rich air rushed out we bullied our way in.

There was no need for killing. All we had to do was open all hatches and wait for oxygen deprivation to do the rest. It didn’t take long.
When we had shoved the last limp body out into the cold of space, the engineers among us began the business of repairing the cruiser. The rest of us made double sure we had left none of the original crew aboard. 

Two turns later, our beautiful cruiser nudged her way out of the gravitational field and turned her smooth flanks towards the more populous areas of the Sector.
The Pirates of Sector 85 were on the hunt. And, being a force of robots, computers, and android engineers, we had the advantage of needing no oxygen to exist.

©️Jane Jago

The collected ‘wisdom’ of seven decades on this planet condensed into poetic form. Certainly not philosophy to live your life by…

Ha, ha, black sheep, have you any lies?
Yes sir, I’ve some to make you rub your eyes
I’ve one for the politics, and one for the kids
And one because I can’t remember anything I did

©️jj

…. or ‘How To Speak Typo’ by Jane Jago

agroculture (noun) – the ethos of young men with assault weapons

beave (descriptive noun) – semi-shaven lady garden

cicksure (adjective) – bolshie and liable for fall over one’s own feet – often the result of the injudicious application of alcohol to the cakehole

denenter (noun) – word guaranteed to enrage a large man waving an axe.

emmory (adjective) – of men, having not shaved

endge (noun) – the bit of a car engine that whizzes round for no apparent reason

goid (noun) – swelling of the great toe caused by kicking the backside of an eejit

holarious (adjective) – so funny that you laugh until you all but get a prolapse

lierary (adverb) – of speech sounding as if it might be untrue

orgsam (noun – impolite) – self-generated sexual pleasure

sdie (noun) – bottle genie with a weird sense of humour

shre (adjective) – of yummy mummies to have special clothing for every activity

snutan (noun) – a peculiarly unappealing side of orange

touprt (noun) – ill-fitting hairpiece

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Brother Benedict loved the time he was permitted in the cloister.There he felt more spiritual. It was the one place he never doubted his vocation. 

When the King ordered the destruction of the monasteries, Brother Benedict became Roger Smith again. He was fortunate finding work in the household of the new owner who used the monastery as a house. So when he overheard the new lord arguing with his son they should demolish the cloister he was able to act.

Ever after, standing in the cloister, he was sure the blood that stained his hands left his soul untouched.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Just for a moment Durban ran a check over the whole event and was pleased to see that all was running smoothly. He was careful not to disturb Jaz but eavesdropped, briefly, on the security channel. So far there was nothing untoward and despite all Jaz’s very pertinent concerns, it seemed the glitterati of the ‘City were content to party at Voltz without wanting to cut each other’s throats for one evening.
Satisfied that all was being arranged as well as it could be, Durban returned his focus to his immediate guests. He singled out those he most wanted to impress or influence, as he was circulating amongst them. There were one or two here he might never get another chance to meet in the flesh — such as the syndicate leaders or whichever senior representative they had delegated to attend. These he needed to hive off from the main gathering, one at a time, and take them into the room he had filled with examples of Temsevaran art so as to offer the perfect excuse for quiet conversation. 
It was just as he rejoined the main room after one of the last such excursions that he found himself robbed of both breath and rational thought. He stared, against his will. Then reminded himself first to breathe, then to move and finally to remember that he was not the only clever bastard who could play people. But the damage was done and he wasn’t surprised when a few moments later he was presented to the young man who had come on behalf of Eritch Dragure. The vivid blue eyes held a hunger and a question. Durban smiled politely and passed the guest off to one of the handful of escorts he had employed, hoping the impact he had made wasn’t too visible.
He should have known it was never going to be enough. The next time he had a gap between conversations, there was a presence beside him and turning, the blue eyes met and held his own. They were set in a face of beautiful proportions beneath a sweep of blue-black hair. This time Durban looked and had to control his breathing.
“Vor Chola?”
“I normally wear a name tag, but I thought tonight I’d manage without,” he said lightly. “You come with a ‘property of’ label though. How is Eritch? I’m so sorry he was unable to be here.”
The blue eyes registered amusement and the beautiful face smiled.
“Vor Dragure is well, I believe, and I am sure regrets he is unable to attend tonight. But yes, he asked me to be his ambassador. To offer you what good will I may on his behalf.”
“I wouldn’t have thought he had the taste or the imagination.”
He could feel the heat of this other man’s body so close they almost touched. He could feel his own body’s response to it, urgent and uncontrollable and had to make a conscious effort to keep his breathing steady.
“I’m not sure he has.”
“You have a name?”
“I do. Does that surprise you?” The smile was there again, with a silent laughter. Durban found his own smile responding.
“I’m Durban. Vor Chola is for my staff.”
“I’m Roeul. Vor Ritsun to my staff.”
“You have staff? I thought — you were — “
“Working for Eritch Dragure? No. I’m not his employee. Just returning the loan of a favour by accepting the grim and arduous task of attending this event on his behalf.”
Durban knew he should excuse himself and go back with the rest of his guests, where he had work to do. But instead, he asked:
“So you are ‘City?”
“That’s right.”
The blue eyes lit up with humour at Durban’s obvious discomfiture. There was no fear or calculation there, just a silent laughter. Durban smiled and shook his head.
“It has been a pleasure to meet you, but you must excuse me.”
“For now, of course. Maybe you’ll be in touch, I’d like that.”
Durban didn’t reply and pushed himself physically away, using the few moments it took him to rejoin the main swirl of his guests to fight his emotions and perceptions back into some kind of controlled order. And because, of a sudden, he didn’t trust himself at all, he decided that he must link out to Jaz at the earliest opportunity and ask for a full security check on one Roeul Ritsun.

From Haruspex Trilogy Edge of Doom a Fortune’s Fools book by E.M. Swift-Hook.

The collected ‘wisdom’ of seven decades on this planet condensed into poetic form. Certainly not philosophy to live your life by…

It ain’t all beer and skittles 
The sun don’t always shine
Some days winter dribbles
And you run fresh out of wine
It ain’t champagne and chocolate 
Coz them things make you fat
You’re gonna have the odd regret
You can be sure of that
It ain’t all beer and skittles
And I ain’t the perfect wife
And if the sweet brings bitter
Well, that’s just the way of life

©️jj

Author Feature: The Chronicles of Aaspa – Aaspa’s Eyes and Aaspa’s Imps, by Jane Jago

What if there was a race of beings that spoke with angels and hunted evil? What if they watched over the worlds and were charged with riding the balance between good and evil? And what if one of them was a ‘blue-eyed abomination’ named Aaspa?
Aaspa’s Eyes and Aaspa’s Imps tell some of the stories of life in Aaspa’s brutal but essentially moral world.
In this extract, Aaspa meets her Mate for the first time…

When Aascko son of Aasgo became a fully fledged Hunter his pride knew no bounds. He had learned diligently, and his Teacher had even managed to shake some of the moral certainties that a rigid and unimaginative upbringing had rooted in his head. He was no longer the arrogant youngling who had reported for training, and he knew that his further development would depend on who had been chosen to partner the greenest rookie in the pack. His first winter saw him paired with a stolid oldster, who steadied him and taught him who might be trusted and who he should be wary of. 
Then the old Hunter retired, leaving Aascko partnerless and vulnerable. He went on a couple of low grade jobs before being called to the home of the Master Hunter to meet his permanent partner. He found himself more nervous than he had been since his first day of training and was forced to wipe sweaty palms on his trousers before knocking on the door of the Master’s office. The old Hunter stood up to greet him.
‘Welcome Aascko. Come and meet Aaspa.’
Aascko felt a cold finger on his spine. Of all the Hunters in the pack,  he was to be paired with the Abomination. He steeled himself and held out a hand. A slight figure uncoiled itself from the chair in the corner of the room and he beheld her for the first time. She was beautiful, slender and strong, with silver-grey skin, aristocratic features, and a crest of night black curls. Then he saw her eyes and it was all he could do not to recoil. He held firm, and kept a smile of polite greeting on his face. Even so, she saw the revulsion in him and the pleasant smile on her own face faded.
‘Forget it’ she said shortly. ‘This one has too much baggage.’
The Master a Hunter held up a hand. ‘Please Aaspa. Do this for me. Aascko deserves a chance.’
‘With respect, Master, I don’t think he wants a chance. He can barely bring himself to touch my hand. What sort of a partnership will that be? How should I trust a partner who thinks my very existence violates the rules of being? The first chance he gets he’ll betray me.’
Aascko felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment. ‘No lady. I would not sink so low.’
She turned to look at him and he saw the hurt that lurked in those blue eyes. It hit him like a hammer blow.
‘The eyes of The People are brown and no other colour’ she said bitterly. ‘I expect you were brought up reciting that alongside the other commandments.’
‘I was. But I’ve already had most of my certainties shaken. That one is about due to be amended too.’
‘Why should I believe you?’
‘I can give you no reason, save my oath.’
‘And why would you give your oath to Abomination?’
He met her gaze straightforwardly. ‘Because I need a partner and so do you. Also, I have heard of your skill and I would learn from the best. I would not offer friendship to anyone on first meeting, but I would promise my loyalty. Will you accept my word?’
She regarded him solemnly for a moment then nodded. He bent his knee before her.
‘Huntress Aaspa I pledge my fealty from this day forward.’ 
Then he stood up and offered his hand. She took it, and he noticed how finely boned she was. 
‘I’m sorry’ he said honestly. ‘I find myself ashamed.’
She favoured him with a twisted grin.
‘Forget it. It happens all the time.’
‘I dare say. But that don’t make it right. It makes it worse.’
‘Maybe we do have a chance at forging a partnership’ she bumped knuckles with him. ‘We’ll give it a go.’   

Carry on reading about Aaspa in Aaspa’s Eyes and Aaspa’s Imps

A Bite of… Jane Jago

(1) Would you rather be a hero or a villain?

Well. I’m certainly not hero material. So maybe I’d be a villain. But then again with my sense of humour I’d more probably be somebody’s sidekick. The one that effs everything up.

(2)  If you could have a dinner party with any three people, living or dead, who would you invite?

I’d get my dad, Bill Bryson, and Spike Milligan. Then I’d just sit back and listen to three very witty men doing their schtick.
I’d probably laugh until my sides hurt.

(3) What is your favourite quote? And why?

“It’s not worth doing something unless someone, somewhere, would much rather you weren’t doing it.” ― Terry Pratchett.  And because it’s pretty much my own philosophy 

Jane Jago is a multi-genre maniac who could no more stop writing than stop breathing. She lives in a quiet corner of England’s west county with her beloved Dog and her favourite human being in the whole world. When she isn’t writing, Jane is to be found walking with Dog, baking, drawing, or doing very small amounts of light housework.

You can follow the tortured genius, all round superhero, and truly modest human bean that is Jane Jago on Twitter and Facebook.